


It's All Wrong, But It's All Right

by draculard



Category: Dumplin' (2018)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ambiguous Feelings, Bullying, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dubious Consent, Extreme Underage, F/F, Gratuitous Dolly Parton, Incest, Oral Sex, Unreliable Narrator, Weight Issues, Weight insecurity, fatphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Now matter how badly she's bullied at school, Will knows that when she comes home, Aunt Lucy can make her feel good again.





	It's All Wrong, But It's All Right

It’s the Dolly Parton song playing on the record player that gets her. Even as a kid, Will thinks there’s probably nothing in the world more seductive than a Dolly Parton song. There’s something about that voice that just wiggles into your ears and stays there like melting honey.

It makes her relax — it always has. She sits back in one of Aunt Lucy’s beanbag chairs and lets Dolly soothe her half to sleep. Will knows all the words to this song; to _ all _ the songs. She mouths the lyrics, eyes closed, lips curled up in an easy smile. 

And she can hear Aunt Lucy walking toward her, can feel the floorboards creaking under her weight. She feels a brush of air when Aunt Lucy stops before her and bends down to put her face right next to Will’s. She feels Aunt Lucy’s fingers brushing against her neck.

Her smile gets wider. When she opens her eyes, Aunt Lucy is right there beside her, and she’s smiling, too.

“You like this song, baby?” Aunt Lucy asks. Will’s only answer is to crinkle her eyes as she keeps on mouthing the lyrics, unwilling to break stride. 

Most kids don’t like Dolly Parton. She knows that from school; last year she brought one of Aunt Lucy’s records in for show and tell, and not a single one of her classmates stopped by her desk afterward to take a closer look. 

She’s glad she shares this passion with Aunt Lucy. It makes her feel more grown-up, like instead of being her aunt, Aunt Lucy is her sister, or maybe even her friend. Like maybe they’re on equal footing, and it’s okay when Lucy touches her this way.

When Lucy kisses her.

* * *

“It’s okay, baby,” Aunt Lucy says. “Does this feel good?”

It does. Willowdean’s chest is heaving; her t-shirt is pulled up all the way to her neck, exposing her stomach and the little budding breasts she’s only just started to develop. She looks down and she can see how flushed her skin is; she can see Aunt Lucy’s quick, impish smile, the one that always makes Will’s heart skip a beat; she can see Aunt Lucy’s pink lips on her thigh.

“You need to answer,” Aunt Lucy reminds her. “Otherwise how do I know when to stop?”

Her tongue finds the tiny button between Will’s legs, sparking electricity all up and down her spine.

“Never stop,” Will gasps. She hears Dolly singing in the background — her favorite song, the perfect soundtrack to the perfect day. 

“I won’t,” Aunt Lucy promises. Her fingers are so warm, easing Will open, feeling silky and wet inside her. “But remember,” Aunt Lucy says, “you have to do me next.”

Will nods, incapable of answering, too excited and tense now to function.

She loves these sessions with Aunt Lucy. Loves feeling beautiful, loves feeling grown-up, loves feeling unique and cherished and — well, small. No matter how big Will gets — no matter how much larger than her classmates she is — she’s always smaller than Aunt Lucy, and though she’d never admit it, it feels good to come home from a day of taunts and bullying at school and to meet Aunt Lucy like this in the attic, and to just feel … thin.

Just for a moment. Just for an hour.

She’s learned to love the other aspects of it; the first time Aunt Lucy touched her, Will didn’t like it at all, and she cried for nearly twenty minutes afterward with her arms around Aunt Lucy’s neck and her face pressed into Aunt Lucy’s soft, nude, sweat-slick chest. And she’d learned to love that part — being touched — but she’s still not quite sure she loves the other part. 

Touching Lucy, making her come. It’s nice to see her flushed and smiling and aroused, but it’s not so nice to taste her. Will just isn’t used to it yet.

She’ll get better. She’s sure of it.

* * *

Afterward, Will always gets the shakes. They shower together, Aunt Lucy aiming the nozzle at Will and spraying her down, both of them giggling, both of them still lowkey aroused. It feels perfect to have Aunt Lucy’s hands on her, caressing every crease and fold that gets Will bullied at school. She loves the fragrance of Aunt Lucy’s soap, the feel of it on her skin.

But in the shower, that’s always where she starts shaking after sex, and it always, always ends with Aunt Lucy wrapping Will up in a big, fluffy towel and carrying her, naked underneath, back to the bedroom. They sit together there, Will in Aunt Lucy’s arms. Trembling. Trying not to cry.

In the end, it’s always Dolly Parton that soothes her. The low crooning from Aunt Lucy’s record player penetrates Will’s mind in a way that, for some reason, Aunt Lucy’s own soft murmurs and reassurances can’t. 

_ Make me feel good, _ Willowdean begs, and she doesn’t know whether she’s asking Aunt Lucy or Dolly Parton. _ Make me feel good again. _

_ Make me feel thin. _

_ Make me feel loved. _

_ Make me feel good. _

“It’s alright,” Aunt Lucy says, her lips moving against Will’s still-wet hair. “It’s alright, baby. You did good. I’m proud of you, okay?”

_ Okay. _ Will wants to say it, but when she forces her lips to move, all they do is mouth the lyrics to the Dolly Parton song playing in the corner. She’s trying not to cry, she realizes, but that doesn’t make sense — she’s _ happy_, she tells herself. She likes this. 

“Okay,” Aunt Lucy says for her, kissing the top of Will’s head. “It’s alright.”

Slowly, Will’s heart rate slows down and her shaking subsides. She tells herself it’s because of Aunt Lucy. She blinks, and her eyes start burning, and the pain and fear of the last hour seems hard to define. All she can remember is the parts she liked: Aunt Lucy’s hands in her hair and on her thighs, Aunt Lucy’s lips kissing soft trails down Will’s neck, down her breasts, down her stomach. Aunt Lucy praising her like no one else ever has.

_ So what’s the big deal? _ she asks herself. _ Stop acting like a baby. You’re fine. You love this. _

_ It’s alright. _


End file.
